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“Con!” Cal bites out, standing, and his whole demeanor commands the room.
“No. Fuck you, Cal. And fuck him too.” He tips his head toward Bren. “No more fucking secrets. You should know better than anyone where that gets us.”
“No more fucking lies.” Finn pushes off the wall, throwing his toothpick to the floor.
“Great, another fucking shitstorm,” Oscar grits out as he throws himself into the armchair in the corner of the room, then unbuttons the top button of his collar. His uncaring attitude makes me wonder if he’s having some sort of mental breakdown, but when I look toward Cal for guidance, his face mirrors Con’s.
Guilt.
CAL
Con is right, our family has been veiled in secrets, and the consequence of each of them brought a storm of lies so brutal we struggle to remain standing.
I almost lost my son, more than once, to lies, and I know I’m damn lucky to still have him and his family in my life. Some things are unforgivable, even if we are doing it as a form of protecting the ones we love.
“You better sit down.”
“I’ll stand, thanks,” Sky sasses with a feistiness she rarely shows. My lip quirks at her defiance, and I take my seat once again, hoping to lower the budding tension in the room.
“A while ago, we were approached by three men claiming to need help. They said the girl they were involved with was a relative of yours.”
Her small body jolts. “Mine?”
“Yes. Your sister.”
“Like a real one?”
“Yes, Sky. A real one, your blood sister.”
She glances toward Bren, and her jaw clenches. “Why didn’t he tell me that?”
I lick my lips, preparing to be honest with her. “At first, we wanted to be sure that she was who they said she was.”
“And was she?” Her bottom lip trembles.
“Yes. She’s your sister, Sky.”
“Jesus.” Will sighs. “And you didn’t think she had a right to know?”
“It wasn’t our choice to make!” I snap in her direction.
A tear slides down Sky’s cheek, and she swipes it away. “Why didn’t he tell me?”
“He was trying to protect you,” I say. “The girl, she’s been through a lot.”
Sky jolts, and her bright-blue eyes widen. “Like what?”
My mind whirls to formulate the right way to tell her.
“Like fucking what, Cal?” she screams. “What has she been through?”
The room waits with bated breath for me to respond. Whatever way I tell her will never be the right way. But it is the only way.
“She was in foster care for years and was abused while there, sweetheart.”
Her chest rises and her eyes fall shut, but I continue, “She had a child while in care, and until recently, she thought the baby was her abuser’s.”
Sky swallows, then opens her eyes. “How old is she?”
